


Kinky Robot Daddy Incest Roleplay

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, everything sounds better when you put robot before it, idek man, just robot fluff, mention of robot ethics, some vocaloid au shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dave Strider is fully functional humanoid robot built by Dirk. Vocaloid AU, kinda.





	Kinky Robot Daddy Incest Roleplay

>BE DIRK STRIDER.

 

It's almost three in the morning when Dave groggily comes up behind you, dropping his chin on your admittedly tense shoulder. A glance at the time makes you realize you've been on the computer for four hours straight, and you yawn, not bothering to cover your mouth.

"What are you doing?"

His voice is heavy with sleep, or at least, a mockery of it. His chin is heavy, but soft on your shoulder— synthetic material covering layers of metal and wire. You'd know. You programmed him to have the most amount of human facilities possible. Senses of sight, sound, scent, taste, a circadian rhythm, a digestive system that works well enough, if you consider oil as an appropriate diet among regular human food... enough processing power to simulate the workings of a human brain...

And a voice.

"Check this out. I got a new song for you," you tell Dave, transferring your headphones from your neck to his head. He perks up and beams like you told him you're allowing him apple juice with every meal forever even though it's terrible for his system. It's a bitch to flush out, interferes with the oil, and fucks with some of his inhibitory functions. It essentially does to Dave what alcohol does to an organic human.

"Seriously?" he asks and reaches over you to press the play button, again dropping his chin on your shoulder.

It's not much, just the barebones of a new song— a melody and a beat. You leave the lyrics to him because that's his favorite part. When you built him, you definitely should have expected him to flat-out abuse the amount of lexicon you installed in his memory, but you underestimated his chattiness, so here you are.

You close your eyes for a bit, leaning back against him. You feel him moving his feet to the music. The rhythm washes a calm over you, making your exhale feel pleasant and restful. When you were younger, before you made Hal, creating a fully functional robot that perfectly simulated a human was a pipe dream, something you thought you could theoretically achieve given a hundred more years to your short mortal life.

But Hal was a resounding success. You refuse to believe in luck, but even with Hal being a nuisance most days, having an AI modeled after your own mind with an exponential process ultimately served to help you create another from scratch— one who is finally not, technically, you. You're quite tired of yourself.

Jane was skeptical when you told her what you were planning to build. Roxy laughed. And Jake... you don't like thinking about Jake.

"Bro," Dave sighs happily, his voice lacking earlier's gruffness. "Not to be too unironic, but this shit is fuckin' great. Greater than any oriental wall built to keep invaders out. Like, the invaders took a single gander at this and said, yeah, fuck it, let's scamper outta here and find some other shitty country to invade."

You can't help it, you throw your head back and start laughing.

"This wall ain't budging, it's too magnificent. Drops so many sick beats that would probably bash our heads in from like fifty feet high and flatten our wimpy pancake asses to the ground. They probably don't know yet what pancakes are, but you know. I like what you did with the second chorus by the way, I think I can stick a rap in there somewhere. Hell, this whole thing could be a rap, I know how much you love my shit."

"You like it?" You ask with a grin, even though you already know.

"Do I _like_ it? Hell motherfucking yeah," he tells you, ruffling your hair. His hand lands on your neck. You can feel his breath on your cheek. He had foregone his shades when he woke up and his eyes, red and lit dimly by the light of the computer, holds your gaze. You don't breathe.

"Can I kiss you?"

"You ask like I haven't said yes a hundred times before," you whisper.

Dave shrugs. "Yeah, well, the asshole in charge of my programming was so concerned with robo-ethics and consent and other shit after his last pet project went out of control, beep-fuckin'-boop, so now I gotta suffer the inconvenience of having to ask every damn time. Really, bro?"

Pffft. You make a note to alter some codes.

"You're such a baby," you say.

He smirks, one side of his mouth going higher than the other. It's utterly charming and you're weak to it. "Your baby, right?"

"Oh god. No. Don't go there," you say, gagging. You already know where his mind is going. "Gross."

"Shit man, if you wanted some kinky robot daddy incest roleplay thing going on you could've just asked."

"You literally just ruined the mood, Dave."

"The mood," he drawls, "is gonna rebuild itself and come right the fuck back to make-out town and maybe possibly into boner city if you just _kiss me,_ goddammit."

So you do. Just a chaste peck on his lips, doesn't even last a few seconds. The angle is weird and it hurts your neck, but Dave makes a happy sound and climbs into your lap. You put your hands on his waist and kiss him harder.

You don't believe in luck. An artificial intelligence like Dave Strider was built to consider possible routes, analyze prerequisites and consequences to every action available to the situation and limited only by morals and the personality he developed himself. Flowcharts and branching decisions, leading to an almost infinite number of subsequent events and an even more ridiculous amount of branching decisions.

Free will, you like to think privately.

You think you got lucky anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> im like 413 years late to the party. happy fuckin' 6/12
> 
> (jane and john gave dave the ben stiller shades for his birthday last year.)


End file.
